


As Solid As Water

by exonomics



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Multi, Past Abuse, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:31:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exonomics/pseuds/exonomics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Older brothers know best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Solid As Water

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a contest, with the prompt being a story based off of the flash fiction Water by Fred Leebron with our interpretation. The short story can be found at the bottom of this fic. You can chose to read it ahead to get a better idea of where this is coming from, but beware - there are major spoilers! Originally posted May 10, 2014.

 

“So how’s school going? Still doing well?”   
  
I hum from my throat, keeping my back turned away. The dishes in the sink need to be cleaned. So does the serrated knife.   
  
Junmyeon scoffs. “That’s all I get? C’mon, Jongin, tell me about school!” He leans foreword. “Tell me about the girls!"   
  
I smell the cigarette smoke. My fingers brush over the knife, skin smooth against indented metal and sharp edges. It looks good next to my hand. “No girls,” I reply, ghosting over the knife towards the plates in the sink. “They suck.”  
  
“You’re seventeen, Jongin. Girls don’t suck.”  
  
The beer in the fridge is cold. It’s sour and unpleasant to drink and smell. Junmyeon would like it. “Are you done with the plate?” I extend my hand behind me. There are footsteps and Junmyeon stands beside me, putting the plate in the sink. His sleeve knocks into the knife on the way back. His skin looks good next to the knife too. Better than mine.  
  
“Look, Jongin,” he nudges my side. “Girls are great. Their needy and whiny and sometimes a pain in the ass, but their good for guys.” A smile, sweet as frothed over sugar. “Have you slept with a girl yet?”

  
  
_Sharp nails long fingers can’t breath stop stop you’re hurting me hurting me_  
I didn’t do it why are you hurting me I hate you stop it hate you don’t touch me please—  
 

  
“I don’t want to talk about that.” I grab the sponge from the sink. “I need to wash the dishes.”  
  
He ruffles my hair, something like affection. “Listen to your brother, Jongin,” he says. I grab the knife off the counter. “Older brothers know best, right?"  
  
Of course. Older brothers know best.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was a girl, but I don’t tell Junmyeon.  
  
Her name is Miyoung. She lives next door to our apartment. She’s five years older than me but still tells me “good morning” every day as I head off to school. She goes to work for some company down the block and we run into each other every day to catch the elevator.  
  
Her voice is smooth like honey, soft and comforting and she sounds especially sweet when she asks me about my day, about school, about other girls. I don’t tell her about other girls because there are none. There is her, and that’s all I need.  
  
Sometimes she will fix my uniform tie for me on the way down the elevator because I fucked it up in the morning rush. Her fingers are as soft as her voice, and once they brushed against my neck. My heart raced and my breathing stopped. She laughed and apologized, squeezing my shoulder.  
  
“You’re so cute, Jongin-ah,” she said. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but the elevator opened and she left.  
  
It may be love, but I don’t know. I haven’t really loved anyone lately. I thank you for that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He opens the front door. I know it’s him and not Dad. Dad never comes home before six.  
  
“Hey, can you do me a favor?” Junmyeon asks, taking a banana from the fruit bowl in the kitchen. I stretch out along the couch. Maybe he will leave if I ignore him. He laughs and sits on my torso. “You’re a little bitch, you know that?”  
  
I pick up the remote and turn up the volume on the television.  
  
“Can you water the plants in my apartment for a few weeks?”  
  
I turn off the volume. The cartoon characters mouth silently along with the dialogue. “Why?”  
  
“I’ll be in and out of town for work. I don’t want them to die.”  
  
“You’re allergic to pollen.”  
  
He laughs again. He pinches my side, hard. “Smart-ass.” He stands up and I can breath again. “I’ll pay you if you want.”  
  
I turn the volume back on. “I don’t want your money.”  
  
“Fine.” He takes a bite of the banana. “I won’t pay you. But I still need you to water them while I’m gone.”  
  
He drops off a spare key on the counter and leaves. The room becomes too quiet so I turn up the volume again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hate you.  
  
I hate your smile. I hate your laugh. I hate the way you walk around like everything’s all right and we’re one big happy fucking family because we’re not and you act like we are and I hate you.  
  
I still have the scars, y’know.  
  
I have the one on my foot from when you dropped a plate on the floor and I stepped on the glass. You cried harder than I did as Mom took us to the hospital. I only cried for a bit because I was a big boy and big boys don’t cry. I needed fourteen stitches. _1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14_ neatly sewed into my skin. I forgave you after.  
  
I have the one on my thigh from when you cut me with a pair of scissors when you turned too fast and I was standing behind you. You were the one who kept the cloth over the cut as I bleed out. I didn’t cry that time. I was a big boy and big boys don’t cry, do they Junmyeon? I forgave you after.  
  
I have the one on my knee from when Dad picked you up by your hair and shoved you against the wall. I cried then. I cried when he screamed and yelled and you yelled back and I just sat behind the bedroom door scared. And when I heard him coming down the hall I ran and tripped over the book you were going to read to me and skinned my knee against the dresser. I forgave you after.  
  
I have the one on my chest from when you pushed me. I have the one on my arm from when you kicked me. I have the one on my cheek from when you punched me and my eye turned blue and swollen. I cried but you must have missed the tears through your own. I lied to Dad saying that I fell off my bike because I did not listen to my older brother.  
  
Of course. Older brothers know best.  
  
I have the ones on my wrists from when you held me down and screamed at me I was a terrible brother I didn’t get hit by Dad only you did because I was a terrible brother and you hurt me then you grabbed me and pushed me and shoved me and hurt me and I hate you.  
  
Some scars won’t heal. But you don’t know about that, do you Junmyeon?

 

 

 

 

 

The ferns in the bathroom are bone dry. I pour the water from the kitchen tap to the base. It’s gone in a matter of seconds. I’ve been watering them for days and they always take the most water. Maybe their sick, giving up on living and accepting their dry fate.  
  
I turn on the faucet to fill the cup I brought with me. The ferns need more water. They will turn brown as they dry out, but the green is pretty. I hope they don’t turn like the leaves outside.    
  
In the distance, I hear the faint clicking of an opening lock. I turn the water off. There is shuffling and hushed voices. Junmyeon is home and has brought company. My stomach turning, I close the bathroom door. Maybe he will not notice I am here.  
  
Something slams into the wall. I hear Junmyeon’s voice, low and rough and a softer voice replying. The voice is smooth, sweet like honey.  
  
My ears ring as giggles and chatter become groans and panting breathes. They grow louder past the bathroom door, Miyoung whimpering in Junmyeon’s hold. I can almost envision her face, breathless and wild and beautiful and sighing “ _Junmyeon_ ” out loud and I think I may throw up.  
  
When the bedroom door slams shut I run. Clothing is scattered on the floor. I almost trip over shoes and a belt. I rip the front door open and slam it shut, making sure to be loud about it. I don’t care if they know I was there.  
  
I hope they know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They love you.  
  
Every woman you touch turns to melted gold, becoming a ring on your finger that is shown off. They fall for easy charm and dazzling smile, soft skin and passionate sex. You’re a decent person Junmyeon, wouldn’t you say? You act like a gentleman when needed and no one would know what you did behind close doors.  
  
It surprised me at first, seeing you act when we weren’t at home. You were dressed in that black suit Dad bought for Mom’s funeral when I first saw the other you. It was at some office party at Dad’s job. I sat in the corner and played a video game. You grabbed a young girl by her waist and pulled her into a dark corner with sweet words and shy smiles. I pretended not to notice. You weren’t touching me and I was happy.  
  
 It seemed that you always had a girlfriend. There was always someone coming home with you. I would work on elementary math and you would push one down on the couch. The next day I would play in the complex lobby and you would take another by the hand to the stairwell. It never really bothered me. You stopped hitting me and yelling at me and touching me. I didn’t mind if you spent your energy on someone else. It was a welcoming change that I didn’t have to hide under blankets at night; worried the big, bad brother would find his way into my bed.  
  
That was until the screaming started.  
  
Did you think I wouldn’t hear the yelling? Even with the television turned all the way up, I could hear the begging from our bedroom. Even if my eyes were glued to a game, I could see the tear stains down the girls’ faces and the blossoming bruises on their arms.  
  
I have the same marks tattooed under my skin. Or did you forget about those, too?  
  
I’ll probably go to hell for silently thanking you for hitting them and not me. I see some of them around, did you know? Some go to my school. Rumor has it they’re all lesbians now. I wouldn’t blame them. We learned about it in class one day. When a person gets so frightened, they stay away from whatever triggers the fear. Dicks scare them now, so they stick to fucking girls. It’s the safer option.  
  
You tell me that women are great, but they’re just as bad as you. I want to scream, yell at them for not telling anyone about you. They have the power, but they stay silent. I would make a scene at school, tell the world about the real you, but no one would believe me.  
  
Little brothers don’t know jack shit. Older brothers know best.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Miyoung stops the elevator before it can close. “Jongin—“ I press the first floor button again. The door tries to close, but Miyoung keeps her arm along the sensors. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’m going to be late.”  
  
She frowns. “It’s Saturday.”  
  
“I have extra classes.” I lie. I press the button again. Miyoung steps into the elevator now, running her hands through her hair. She smells like cigarettes.  
  
“The other day—“  
  
“What other day?”  
  
“We didn’t know you were there,” she says quickly, face blushing. “I-I wouldn’t have stayed if I knew…  
  
I snort, watching the numbers tick down from thirty-two. Junmyeon knew. There would be no reason for him to be home in the afternoon. He knew I would be over watering the plants. He wanted to give his little brother a show. I wonder if he knew of my infatuation with Miyoung. How fucked up would that be?  
  
The elevator buzzes along. Miyoung clears her throat. “I…I really like your brother.”  
  
“He’ll hurt you,” I mumble, tapping my foot along with the descending floors. “It always happens with girls.”  
  
There’s a moment's pause.  
  
_27…_  
  
_26…_  
  
_25…_  
  
“Jongin,” she says softly. I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s cold, not warm like it used to be. “I know how you feel about me, and I’m flattered.”  
  
_24…_  
  
_23…_  
  
“You’re a good kid, and there’s plenty of girls your age that would be perfect for you—“  
  
“How would you know?” I scoff, turning to her. Her eyes widen in shock and I roll mine. They always act innocent, the women. “I don’t want your pity."  
  
_21…_

  
Deep down, there’s a part of me that wishes she would listen, the part that remembers her fingers against my skin, the smile on her lips. I wonder how she would feel against me in bed instead of my brother.  
  
_20…_  
  
“I don’t expect you to understand,” she says between pursed lips. “And frankly, I don’t care if you do or not.” She turns her head away, staring straight ahead. "This is between two adults, not something a kid should get into."  
  
I am seventeen. I understand. I understand that Junmyeon is good in bed and good at charming unsuspecting young women. I understand that Miyoung will never love me. And frankly, I don’t give a single fuck if she does or not. I'm used to the heartache. Wounds inside hurt more than those outside. She'll figure that out soon enough.  
  
So I shrug my shoulders. My eyes keep up with the descending numbers. “I warned you,” I say. The air between us becomes uncomfortable with unspoken words.  
  
When the doors finally open on the ground floor, Miyoung quickly exits. I stay, watching her. Before the doors close, she turns around. Her face is red, ugly. "You know, what," she spits, lips still pursed. “You should act more like your brother, Jongin.”  
  
The doors close and I can’t help but laugh out loud. Maybe I'll start acting like my brother and see how she likes it.  
  
I bet she'll be surprised. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you remember the night before Mom died?  
  
That was the night we huddled under your bed covers with a flashlight to read comic books. You read them to me because my vocabulary wasn’t proficient enough. You’re high school sentences flowed better than my elementary words. I liked hearing you talk. You’re voice was soft and gentle then.  
  
We giggled at pictures. Laughed at complex words. I leaned against your shoulder and you held me by my waist. When we finished you put them aside. You kissed my forehead, whispering an “I love you, Jonginnie.” I whispered it back before crawling into my bed. We were brothers then, bound by blood and love and childish fantasies of super heroes saving the world.  
  
You were my super hero, Junmyeon. Even after Mom’s death you were. I’d have nightmares about piercing metal and burning gasoline and being trapped in the flames, but you’d save me. You’d pull me out of the fire. I would cry and wish you would have pulled Mom out from the wreckage too, but I guess that would be asking too much from you.  
  
Sometimes when Dad is out late pretending to be busy with work and the apartment is quiet, I’ll take out those comic books. Do you even know I still have them, Junmyeon? I’ll huddle under my covers with a flashlight and read them aloud. Sometimes I’ll pretend you’re there with me, reading along. Sometimes I pretend everything was the same as that night.  
  
Sometimes I miss you. Not that you’d notice.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m heaving down leftovers when Junmyeon pounds on the door. I know it’s him and not Dad. Dad’s never home before eight.   
  
Think how funny it would be if I left him standing in the hallway, with no way into his old home. I laugh for a moment when he keeps knocking. But then I remember that Miyoung is right next door. He may go knock on her door. She may be a bitch now, but for a moment, I believed she cared. That's why I put my fork down to open the door.  
  
The first thing I see before I'm knocked down is a red tie, neatly pressed and hanging around Junmyeon's neck.  
  
I don't have time to cry out. The door slams shut and he's on me, legs straddling my stomach and I can't breath there's hands on my neck I can't breath what did I do this time I'm sorry I didn't meant to do it I'm sorry you're hurting me please stop please please  _please_ —  
  
"I’m gonna hurt her, am I?" he hisses. His hands press harder against my neck and I'm seeing spots in my eyes please stop please  _please_. "How about I shut that mouth of yours—" My head knocks against the hardwood floor. "Little _bitch_." His fist comes up and I feel the force against my cheek. Now I can cry, air burning in my lungs as I gulp as much as I can. My mouth is moving and my ears are ringing. I think I'm asking him to stop. My hands move on their own, blocking my face from his fist, curling into a ball to protect myself.   
  
This is all so familiar. I almost forgot the feeling of rough skin against my own.  
  
Junmyeon stands up, wiping his forehead. I’m still curled, lying helpless on the floor. I think my nose is bleeding, but I don’t move. Maybe if I pray hard enough he’ll go away, be taken be demons to the fiery pits of hell and leave me alone. There’s a sharp pain in my side when Junmyeon’s kicks me. I curl harder.  
  
“You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass, Jongin,” he hisses, stomping over to the kitchen and leaving on the floor. I hear dishes clank together and I hope he doesn’t find my leftovers. He lets out a breathy laugh. “Ever since we were kids, you were fucking spoiled and I cast aside.” A glass breaks, shattering against the countertop and I shrink into myself. My nose is definitely bleeding, seeping into my blue tee shirt.  
  
“You’re the perfect son, and I’m the mother fucker.” He opens the fridge and the beer clinks. “Funny how things work out.”  
  
I want to tell him that he was the favorite, remind him of the times Dad hung his perfect grades up on the refrigerator while I was scolded. I want to remind him of the times he was allowed to have friends over but I wasn't. I want to remind him who Dad called perfect, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I lie on the floor, waiting for him to leave.  
  
It’s quiet for a while. The only sound is the blood pounding in my ears and the slosh of beer in a cold bottle. I count the seconds as they go by, 1…2…3… until I hear the bottle be thrown out. More footsteps and Junmyeon is bending down, running his hand through my hair because I must have been a good little brother.  
  
He smiles like frothed over sugar. “I’m going down to the Han river with Miyoung tomorrow. Mind watering my plants again?” He takes his hand and wipes the blood running from my nose with my shirt.  
  
He smells like smoke and cigarettes and I realize, how pretty would he look surrounded by fire? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I used to be afraid of fire. It killed my mother. It might kill me.  
  
Junmyeon would roll his eyes and tell me fire was harmless if you knew how to handle it. 

 

 

 

 

 

The plants are still bone dry in Junmyeon’s apartment. There’s a small potted plant on the windowsill overtop the sink, next to the stove. I brush my hands against the leaves. Bone dry. I pour some water into the pot. The leaves seem to open more. I smile and turn on the gas on the stove. I don't light it. I finish watering the other plants in the apartment before locking the door.  
  
Junmyeon should be home soon. He and Miyoung will walk back to the apartment and fuck. Maybe they will think of me, lurking in the bathroom again. They will lie together and he will yell at her, push her around. After they fight he will take out a cigarette. He may even offer one to Miyoung like the gentleman he is.  
  
I will be sitting under my bed covers with a flashlight, reading comic books and waiting for the sound of sirens off in the distance. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'll show him about fire. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> She touches his hair by the river.  
> I am in our apartment, working. Her hand moves down his back.  
> I empty the trash and unclog the kitchen sink. His former girlfriends have turned  
> into lesbians.  
> I take the key to his apartment, which he gave me so I could water his plants  
> during the summer. He bends his kissing face to hers.  
> I walk over to his apartment, just two blocks away. Their legs dangle in the river.  
> I unlock the door and bolt it behind me. The room smells of feet and stale ashtrays.  
> In the kitchen is a gas stove. I turn it on without lighting it.  
> Down by the river is a flock of geese, which they admire while holding hands.  
> Soon he will take her back to his apartment. Soon they will lie there, readying cigarettes.  
> I relock the apartment and slip into the street. The air smells of autumn, burnt. In  
> the sky, birds are leading each other south.  
> I know there is nothing left between us, that she looks at me each morning as if I  
> were interrupting her life.


End file.
